


M is for Moriarty

by Achia626



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Aromantic, Asexual Character, BAMF Jim Moriarty, Developing Relationship, F/M, Friendship/Love, Gen, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Jim Moriarty is a Little Shit, Jim Moriarty's Web, M/M, Other, POV Jim Moriarty
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:08:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27077014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Achia626/pseuds/Achia626
Summary: Jim Moriarty died twice. Once when he was eight, and again when he was thirty five.Just as sentiment is not an advantage, kindness was not a strength.
Relationships: Molly Hooper/Jim Moriarty, Sebastian Moran/Jim Moriarty, Sherlock Holmes & Jim Moriarty, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Kudos: 9





	1. Chapter 1

Jim Moriarty died twice. Once when he was eight, and again when he stood off with Sherlock at thirty five. 

In the eyes of the public, Jim Moriarty will go down in history as the man who built a syndicate and died at the hands of a genius on the right side of the law. 

But Jim Moriarty is, and always will be, the strongest and kindest boy alive James had ever known. 

James Moriarty died twice. Once when he was six, and again at thirty three under his brother's name. 

James Moriarty was six when Jim died at the hands of their father. Jim had tried to protect his younger brother from harm, and had paid the price for it. 

A broken neck from being thrashed around like a rag doll had done the eight year old in. That's when James first experienced rage. That's the day he knew he couldn't be kind. Not if it meant he had to suffer the death of the people he loved. Police arrived to find a boy covered in red clutching his older brother's hand with a vice grip. 

The lead officer at the time, DI Sylvester, was familiar with the poor family and tried to talk the boy into separating himself from the corpses. "James? That you kid?" 

"Me? James?" He giggled hysterically, shaking his head as if that was the funniest thing he'd ever heard. "No, James is dead. Can't you tell?" The boy paused, then frowned. "No, wait, you probably can't. Everyone always gets us confused." He gave a gap toothed smile, and puffed out his chest. "But I did good, didn't I? I killed the bad guy that killed James." 

Sylvester eyed the adult behind the now dubbed Jim, and then back to the boy. He nodded very carefully and crouched low, "Yea, you did good kid. Now how about you come to me and we'll get you all cleaned up, okay?" 

Jim frowned again, shaking his head. "Why? I'm fine right here where I am." 

"Maybe, but you might not like the smell after an hour or two."

"I've been here for an hour and a half." 

"I'm sorry."

"Why?" 

Any human being with sound judgement should've sensed the warning signs right there and then. The danger the boy could be to society and the harm he might be to himself or other people if he isn't rehabilitated properly, but all Sylvester could see was a traumatized little boy who defended himself after watching his father kill his own brother. 

Sylvester swallowed and extended his hand to him. "You shouldn't have to be here at all."

Jim laughed at that. He laughed and laughed and laughed until he'd fallen over on the floor, covering himself in even more blood than what he already had on him. 

The DI moved, hoping to scoop the boy up, but Jim sat up and snarled at him. Sylvester recoiled, jumping back to give the boy space. 

"Don't touch me." The boy said darkly. He then got up, his entire body soaked in red, and walked purposefully out of his house. "If any of you stupid melonheads need me, I'm going to be at Ms. Daley's house next door to take a shower. I stink, and you know it." Jim said loudly as he walked out. 

Sylvester couldn't make heads or tails out of that, and decided to let it go to work up the report on this. 

The court case itself didn't take long. Jim was absolved of any guilt on the matter, both legally and mentally, and the record was sealed and expunged as soon as he could get it approved. 

Jim walked away gaining two things, his brother's name, and the freedom to disappear as he pleased. 

Now, we begin the story of Moriarty and how he rose from the ashes to make an empire only to watch it all implode from the inside out. If there's one thing you should know, this is not a story about triumph or hardship, this is a story about survival and how far people are willing to go to sustain that survival.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the beginning of Moriarty and how he began, all the way up to his death. You do not need to like Moriarty, you don't even need to like anything written. This is a work of fiction that puts up a backstory for Moriarty and the man that he is today.


	2. Kill a man and what do you gain?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James grows up as Jim Moriarty and gets his first taste of blood at fourteen (twelve). Sebastian keeps himself close to Jim, and wonders if he should even be around the boy any longer than he already is.

Jim Moriarty did as any boy would when they've just killed their father in a rage. He went quiet. After all, he was only six pretending to be eight. He was James pretending to be Jim - a strong, confident boy who everyone could rely on for help - and could not be the snivelling boy whose cleverness got him into trouble. So he goes off the radar. People forgot him, but were afraid when he was around and couldn't figure out why. Rumours flew off the surface when they heard what he may or may not have done. They are conflicted on what to do with him. Jim didn't care. He wad only there to exist. The rumours eventually went away anyways.

The only thing a six year old pretending to be eight could do was watch and learn. The only thing James pretending to be Jim could do was become a new Jim. Morph into a man his brother could have become. Grow up, twisted and broken, but alive. Jim vowed he would be different. He would learn from the mistakes of the past and make sure he lived long enough to make sure that if people got hurt, the people harming them would absolutely, one hundred percent, pay for their actions. 

This new Jim was smart, this new Jim was confident, and this new Jim could do better than the last. Kindness resulted in suffering and death, so Jim burned the last few remains of his heart to carry out his plans. He would right the world with his own two hands and no one could stop him. 

"Oi, runt!" Someone snapped their fingers, "Um... What's your name again? James? Jim! Yea, Jim!" 

Jim looked away from the borrowed encyclopedia he was reading - he was on volume XIII - and sighed, snapping the book shut. He'd been at the orphanage for nearly six years and yet somehow his sixteen year old roommate could never learn his name. "Yes, Sebastian?" He asked, feigning innocence and fluttered his eyelashes at him. 

The older boy rolled his eyes, "Shut up, I know. I should have your name down to a tee by now but I don't. Stop being condescending for five seconds and hear me out will you?" 

Amazingly, even if Sebastian didn't know Jim's name, he could somehow read Jim like the back of his hand. Perhaps Jim needed more practice with his body language than he thought. "I'm listening..."

"You're good at numbers, yea?"

"More or less," Jim said, shrugging his shoulders, then scrunched up his brows, "why?" He already knew what he was being asked, he just wanted to see if Sebastian would be honest with him or not. 

"Great! You and I scored a job as this drug king's bookkeeper." Sebastian said bluntly, clapping his hands together with a satisfied nod. 

"Bookkeeper?" Jim sat up on his bed a little straighter. 

"Yea."

"... Do you even know how to do bookkeeping?" 

"No, but I suspect it's like keeping logs and stuff. Like, you know. Record keeping." 

Jim suppressed the urge to back slap Sebastian for his ignorance. "Who are we bookkeeping for?" 

"This guy, Don." 

"Don...?" 

Sebastian shrugged, "Powers. His son's been asking around because he needed someone who could crunch numbers, and I said I've got this genius brother who knows a thing or two about math, and--" 

"Brother?" 

"Well, I mean, you know, we share a room, and you're kind of like the baby brother I would have wanted so, yea..." Sebastian shrugged, his ears pink as he cleared his throat. 

Jim scowled at the label, perfectly aware of Sebastian trying to get them closer. He absolutely did not agree with that. "We're not... brothers. That's not how that works."

Sebastian huffed, "Okay, fine. Not brothers." He made a frustrated noise, scratching behind his ear. "Whatever runt, I just said that so I could get you in. Look, you said you wanted to get into the business world, didn't you?" 

Jim thought about it, and supposed he could agree with the statement. "Suppose I did..." 

"So...?" 

Jim cocked his head to the side and gave a sly smile, "When do we start?" 

Sebastian informed him of the meeting time and place. "I'll pick you up after school and we can walk there together."

"No need," Jim waved him off, "I've been there before." 

"What? When?" 

Jim put on a falsetto croaky voice, "'Scuse me sir, could you tell me how to get to Leicester Square? I'm a bit lost."

"... You little bastard." Sebastian growled. 

The boy grinned back, "As I always am." 

"How could I not have noticed."

"I'm a very good actor." 

Sebastian shook his head and left the room, calling back, "Dinner's in half an hour. Don't be late!" 

Jim didn't bother to respond and went back to his encyclopedia though he was hardly reading it. He smiled to himself and hummed a tune he'd heard on the radio, swaying to and fro in his contentment. 

"The runt. Where is he?" A man asked nasally. His chin held high, and his arms crossed. 

"He'll be here. He promised." 

"Yea, well, if he doesn't-" 

"Evening boys! Sorry, I got lost. Whoowee traffic is horrendous these days isn't it?" Jim said cheerily, grinning like a cheshire cat at a feast and extended his small hand. "Jim Moriarty. Lovely to meet you Don." 

"'M not Don. I'm his son, Carl. Carl Powers." He doesn't take Jim's hand and eyes him up and down.

"Oh, my apologies. You resemble your old man quite a bit." 

Carl glared at Sebastian, "This is your brother? He doesn't even look old enough to do his A-levels. I can't just let him do our books!" 

"Oh, Seb said he'd watch me do them. You can supervise too if you want. Make sure I'm doing it right? Pull the rope if I step out of line?" Jim chimed in, his hands behind his back. "What do you say?" 

Carl continued glaring at Sebastian who shrugged. "Fine." He gritted his teeth and pivoted on his foot. "C'mon, we've got work to do." 

Sebastian put a hand on Jim's shoulder and gave it a squeeze. "Try not to aggravate anyone?"

"I don't know what you mean." Jim replied, jerkily shaking Sebastian off. He followed after Carl like a little duckling. 

Don Powers is a hideous small time crook operating a clothing factory to hide his smuggling business. Don Powers is also very stupid, but the perceptive kind of stupid. 

Jim got a good look at him and made a face, staring back at Sebastian with a look. 

Sebastian shrugged, standing in front of Jim in case it all goes wrong. 

They were inside the clothing factory of twenty workers making knock-off brands to send out to various warehouses. Don himself was standing in the back, hidden in a corner office with a small desk. 

"Da, you busy?" Carl spoke up, 

The man barely looked up, and waved him away. "Thought your wife told you not to hang around here anymore." 

"Yea, but you said you needed someone to do the books for you, didn't you?" 

This time, Don looked up, eyeing his son carefully. "Who'd you find on such short notice?" 

Carl jerked his head to Sebastian and Jim. Jim waved his tiny hand in greeting. 

Don scowled, taking his reading glasses off and stalked over to inspect Sebastian and Jim. "Is this a joke?"

Sebastian spoke up, "My brother's real good with numbers and he'll keep his head down and shut if you need it to." 

Jim nodded, but eyed Don with disdain as the man gave Sebastian a once over. 

Don took notice, and leered over Jim. "You got a problem with me kid?" 

Jim glanced up at Sebastian, silently asking if he should say anything at all. He was told not to aggravate anyone after all. 

Sebastian nodded as if to say 'show him you're the real deal.'

The boy then turned his gaze back to Don and declared, "You've got your hands tied behind your back, don't you? Your bosses ain't happy you've lost two shipments - don't interrupt, I'm not done - and you think you've got a rat on the inside. You need a bookie cause your last one...well, we all know what happened to the last one, don't we? Problem now though is he wasn't the rat and he was loyal to the end like a dog, but that's not the way I'll be working. We'll discuss that in a moment. You've got three workers that are stealing from your fake business, but you couldn't care less even though you probably should because it's just good manners at the very least. Now, for your actual business, the real rat is the guy on break having a smoke. He's the one stealing your shipments with another crew. The fact that you haven't caught on to that is actually borderline stupid but I'll forgive you because everyone is always borderline stupid when it comes to deceit." Jim finished with a flourish and a nod.

Sebastian cleared his throat, and said, "Problem?"

Don narrowed his eyes at Jim who looked coolly back. He glanced at his son who put his hands up flabbergasted. Don huffed, "clever kid you've got there." 

"Yes, he tends to be like that." Sebastian agreed, wondering briefly if he'd made a mistake. 

For a minute, the whole factory was silent save for the noise of the machines working. Don and Jim were locked in a staring contest with each other. 

Don sighed, jerking his head to a door. "Follow me, we'll get you sorted out somewhere out of the way. I've got dozens of receipts for you to look at." 

Sebastian let out a breath he didn't realise he was holding, and ruffled Jim's hair in his relief. 

Jim swatted his hand away. "Stop that. It's annoying." 

Sebastian rolled his eyes, and teased, "If you really didn't like it, you wouldn't be smiling about it." 

"I'm not." 

"Mhm. Whatever you say."

Jim jabbed his elbow into Sebastian's side just as the door swung shut behind them. 

Months later, the cops came to his secondary school looking for a Jim. No one thought twice about Jim Moriarty. 

Ask anybody at school who knew Jim Moriarty, and they'd say he was the cleverest boy you'd ever saw without speaking. He didn't need to speak, his actions spoke for itself. Jim could set a cat on fire, and nobody would suspect it was him. Quiet Jim? Burning cats? He would never. Too much of a goody two-shoes for that. Jimmy cut classes? Straight laced Jim? The boy who always turned his assignments on time, did well on tests, and almost never spoke? Are you sure? We all saw him sitting there all day, you must've got him confused with someone else like Richard Brooke or something. 

All three Jims were confused that day as they were pulled out of classrooms to be interviewed by the police. It was a surprise half an hour later to find out Jim Moriarty had confessed he had been at a crime scene, and the rumours of what he was doing there spread high and low. Jim must've been forced into it. He's poor, isn't he? What if he got desperate and looked in... Did Jim owe somebody money? 

Jim answered these questions with a rueful smile, "Actually, my brother Seb took me there to see something cool. I didn't know what I was looking at to be honest, except for a couple of records with names on it. It kind of looked like a betting pool you'd see at the horse races." 

The police found this to be an adequate answer and left him alone. Jim's goody two-shoes status remained, but now some suspected Jim was being used without his knowledge. Poor Jim, he must've been so scared when the cops came. There's no way this boy could do anything wrong. He's too naive and aloof for that. 

Sebastian slammed the door to their bedroom. "You!" 

Jim was staring at the wall in a trance, and ignored the bigger teen. 

"Oi! Runt!" Sebastian snapped his fingers by Jim's ears. 

Jim hated that sound and broke off his distant stare. "Piss off, what?" He complained. 

"I got questioned by the coppers." 

"So?" Jim found being frustrated by this was pointless. 

"So?! What did you tell them?" He demanded. 

"I just said that you dragged me there to look at some dumb numbers. I didn't say I knew anything." Jim whined, irritated for the break in his focus. 

"Don's gonna kill us." 

Jim sobered up immediately, and looked at him sharply. "Not if I kill him first." 

Sebastian laughed, "How? You don't even have a gun." 

"I can do it." Jim said with a growl, his voice went lower, "Besides, he tried to touch you." 

The older teen stiffened at the reminder, but shook his head, "You wouldn't even get within ten feet of him. You saw how he looked at you the first time we met him. He could tell you were trouble." 

Jim turned back to the wall, his fingers resting under his chin in thought. "Then I'll test it on someone else first." he said it as if he was saying he'd do the dishes later. 

Sebastian collapsed onto his bed, and picked up a comic book. "Mhm. You do that." 

Jim took that as a personal challenge. 

Two weeks later, Carl Powers Jr. wound up dead at a swimming pool, drowned. It was ruled an accident at the scene. 

Jim hummed a mindless tune as he worked on his homework, an old shoebox laid at the foot of his bed. 

Two weeks earlier Jim had set his plan in motion to kill Carl Powers. He didn't pick Don's grandson simply because he was Don's grandson. Though that was a probable answer for Jim to come up with. No, he picked Carl because he was possibly the easiest target to observe. Carl Powers was a large, strong boy whose routine was consistent. After Carl Powers senior had introduced Jim to his dad, Carl never came back. In fact, he barely associated with his biological father at all and so his son's death would never be linked to his father's crimes. 

Jim knew this, but he pursued Carl anyways because he could. He learned Carl was a competitive swimmer and belonged on his school's swim team as team captain. He loved to wear designer clothes, but they weren't always new, so he didn't come from money. Though he did live comfortably in a middle class income family. His shoes were well-worn and loved, and had a particular shine to them that implied he valued them more than other things in his life. When Jim learned of this, he hatched a plan involving eczema cream and shoe laces. After that, all he had to do was wait and reap his reward. 

A few hours afterwards, Sebastian stood by the doorway and threw his bag on his bed. "What did you do?" He asked, his voice steady and calm. 

Jim was still humming as he finished his calculus homework, deliberately ignoring Sebastian. 

"Hey, I'm talking to you, runt." 

"If you have to ask me, then you're even dumber than I thought you were." Jim finally said, scribbling the last problem's work down. 

Sebastian looked down by Jim's feet. "Is that...?" 

Jim gave an exasperated sigh, closing his calculus workbook. "Honestly Seb, what do you think it is?" 

"Jesus Christ Jim!" 

"What?" Jim whined, huffing, "I told you I was going to test it on someone else first. Did you think I was lying?" 

Sebastian didn't know how to respond so he didn't. Instead of saying anything at all, he opted to leave Jim alone. 

Jim scoffed. He didn't care. People die all the time. How they do it depends on the choices people make. It shouldn't matter what Sebastian thought about it. It happened and it's been done. 

A week later, Don called Jim back to the warehouse of his operations. The police had given up looking for clues as everything seemed to be in pristine order. 

Sebastian refused to come with him. In fact, Sebastian had been avoiding Jim since Carl Powers died. People like Sebastian could be so exhausting sometimes. 

Jim met Don in the backroom as they had always done. This time though, there was something a bit different in the way Don was looking at Jim. He was raking Jim with his eyes. 

"I usually prefer blonds, but you'll do just fine." Don said, locking the back door for privacy. 

In hindsight, Jim should've known this was a possibility that would happen if he wasn't careful, but to be fair, he was only human.

Actually, that's a lie. Jim just assumed preference would shield him from harm.

Sometimes, Jim could be wrong. The older man had Jim pinned to a wall next to a clothing rack, and Jim didn't bother making a sound much to Don's chagrin. 

There was a lot of heavy breathing and sweat coming off the old man as he raked his hands over Jim. The touch was... an unwelcomed experience. It felt rough and desperate. Like the man needed release or something. 

"C'mon clever boy, give me something." Don said, unzipping Jim's pants and groping his hands around there. 

Humans were the same as animals even when they needed to mate. Though he was pretty sure this wasn't how mating worked either. This was probably about power or something similar to that. It kind of hurt. 

Jim just let him do what he wanted without much fuss. He did after all murder his son so fair was fair. A few minutes later, the door must've gotten unlocked, because Sebastian came in, crowbar in hand, and swung it to the back of Don's head. 

The man fell like a tree and hit the ground with a smash and a thud. 

Sebastian continued swinging until Don stopped moving, and he threw the crowbar aside. He eyed Jim, who barely said anything as he hiked up his jeans and stared at the body pooling with blood. They leave the body and wipe the crowbar clean of any prints left behind. 

Neither of them go back to their home just yet, and walked around the town for a few hours. 

It took a little bit before either one of them speak. Sebastian was the one who broke first. "How bad?" 

Jim shrugged and cocked his head to the side as he thought about it. "Not as bad as people say it is."

Sebastian was silent. 

"He wasn't rough." Jim continued on, his hands shoved in his jacket pockets. 

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have left you alone."

"I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself." 

"You shouldn't have to though." Sebastian snapped back, followed by a frustrated noise through the nose. "That was..." He shook his head. "That was not good."

Jim considered the outburst and the meaning behind it with as much wisdom as he could find within himself. "Why? Are we not brothers? Did you not protect me?" 

"We- I just killed a man!" Sebastian practically shouted, then covered his mouth after blurting it out. "I think I'm going to be sick."

"What else could you have done? Besides, I was going to have him killed anyways. If you didn't do it, I would have."

"People are gonna find out eventually." 

"Then we'll play the victim card." Jim reasoned, completely unfazed by the situation. "But I don't think it'll come to that. He was already a stick in the mud on society's doorstep, and now he's just a speck of dust. In time, he'll be forgotten."

Sebastian was stumped, baffled by Jim's completely rational conclusion. "How can you be so calm about this? You've just gone through a horrifying experience and you're not... reacting or anything!" 

"Neither of us did anything wrong." 

The older boy shook his head. "No. No, we can't just... I'm sorry Jim, but we didn't do it right either." 

Jim wondered if right and wrong really mattered in life and death. "Then I guess that's what we'll have to deal with." He said as he went to unlock the door to their foster home. 

Meanwhile, somewhere miles away, a nine year old boy was pestering the police on the phone, spewing nonsense about shoes and murder. No one would ever believe him, save for one individual who had been keeping an eye on the police station to make sure the case was never solved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Moriarty is more or less a child with neutral intentions


	3. Adulthood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim and Seb move forward from two years ago and have since become closer as a result. Seb is going to the army, Jim tries not to show he cares.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy some fluff

The next two years go by in a flash. In that time, Jim grew ten inches, practically towering over Sebastian at 5'9 and counting. 

"Now who's the runt?" Jim teased, earning him a whack to the back of his head and a few unsavory curses. 

In two years, the Don Powers incident became a distant memory. Of course, it didn't mean Jim didn't wake up in a cold sweat sometimes, trying hard not to think of rough hands and heavy breathing. It didn't mean Sebastian would ever stop hovering nearby for Jim, making sure he never got himself into trouble he couldn't get out of, whether he was aware of it or not. 

"Why are you going into the army? I thought you didn't like violence." Jim asked one day while they were walking back home together. 

Sebastian didn't really have an answer for Jim and he shrugged. So Jim did what he always did. He observed, and waited patiently for an answer. 

In two years, Jim built up a small group of contacts by tipping off Don's previous bosses about the whereabouts of their missing smuggled goods. If there was anything to gain from that incident, it was the connections of local smugglers to start up his business. He also recommended a strategy to double their profits, and to his surprise, they listened. 

"You the boy that got to Powers?" A man with a scar against his neck asked in a thick Irish accent. 

Jim gave his signature sly grin. "Please, call me Jim." he said, extending his hand in greeting. "I look forward to working with the brains of this operation." 

Ian McConnell didn't trust easily, but he found Jim interesting and recruited him for small time business. Mostly deliveries to places all over town. Jim never looked inside the boxes, and Sebastian followed to make sure he was safe. The boy never needed to look in them. He always knew what they contained long before they handed it to him. 

"Aren't you ever curious?" Sebastian asked once on their way through a small alleyway leading into one of the sub stations. 

"Curious about what?" Jim asked, playing along with Sebastian's questions. They were waiting for the train to come. 

"Who you're delivering these to?" 

"Not really." 

"Why?" 

Jim thought about it, regarding the question seriously. "It's never anybody interesting."

Sebastian snorted, "You don't ever wonder?" 

"Why would I?" Jim stepped up to the upcoming train as it slowed to a stop. "They're just people. Breathing and existing. It gets boring after awhile." 

Sebastian hummed in agreement, remaining by his side. "Think that's why I'm joining the army."

Jim chuckled as he stepped on the train. "Well that's one way to do it."

Sebastian punched Jim's shoulder playfully, "Piss off, at least I'm not the one stuck with having to choose a university."

"University has a plethora of connections for me to upstart my business." Jim said haughtily, practically hugging the package in his hands to his chest. "I'm not the one being obvious about wanting to get my head blown off." he muttered to the ground. 

The older teen turned to softly gaze at Jim. "You're worried." 

Jim didn't meet his eyes. "I am not. I simply detest the gross overstatement of false patriotism the army displays."

"You're such a drama queen." Sebastian laughed, snapping his fingers by Jim's ears. 

Jim yelped a shrill scream, swerving away from Sebastian. "Stop that!" he demanded with a pout, "I'm not a child anymore."

When they arrived at their stop, Jim made a point to scurry off and not look back as Sebastian chased after him, giggling and making stupid kissing noises at him. Jim socked him in the gut to get him to stop. 

At school, Jim got flirted at a lot more than he did before. It didn't matter that he wasn't interested, or rejected them a thousand times over, they still wanted a piece of him. 

"Oh, c'mon you could at least indulge in one." Sebastian said after Jim rejected the most recent girl who asked him out on a date. They were walking back to the home as was the usual. 

"Why?"

"You're not in the least bit curious about any of it?" 

Jim let out a weary and exhausted sigh for once. "Curious of what, exactly?"

"Relationships? Dating? Girls? Boys?" Sebastian blew out a raspberry. "Anyone?" 

"Why? What's the point?"

Sebastian shrugged, "You don't ever get lonely?" 

Jim furrowed his brows at the absurdity of the question. "Why would I be lonely? I have you, don't I?" 

The older teen grew silent at that, and looked at Jim with a raised brow. "What's that mean?" 

"We're brothers, aren't we? Isn't that enough?" 

Sebastian considered the meaning behind the words, tossing it to and fro in his mind, and smiled warmly, "Suppose it is." 

Jim matched the smile with a rare small one of his own, relishing the comfortable silence that stretched on all the way back to their home. 

At the end of the year, Sebastian enrolled straight into the army. The home never approved, but couldn't do anything about it other than wave him off. Jim got him a going away present. 

"What's this?" Sebastian asked, chuffed by the thoughtfulness of the gift. He carefully peeled it open to reveal the sleek black box. 

Jim waved it off dismissively. "It's a dust and waterproof watch. Nothing fancy, just thought you might need it." 

"Aww, I thought you didn't care." 

Jim shrugged, "I don't. I just... wanted to thank you is all." 

Sebastian pulled the watch out. It was an analog watch with a real leather strap and waterproof glass. "This is really nice of you Jim. Thank you." 

Jim grumbled on about finally getting some peace and the room to himself now that Sebastian was leaving. 

"I'll write to you when I get the chance." Sebastian said, stuffing the box in his duffel, and secured the watch on his wrist. 

Jim hummed in response, flipping through the pages of a used anatomy textbook he found at a charity shop. 

When Sebastian left for his first tour, Jim took his GCSE exams early, and skipped his last two years for university on scholarship. 

Despite not caring, he furiously wrote to Sebastian every chance he got, sending them to the army on a bi-weekly basis. They weren't really updates on Jim though, most were little musings he had throughout the week and sent through post. Sebastian struggled to write back with as much passion as Jim did. Jim never minded. He was just secretly relieved the older boy was still alive. 

Jim himself got promoted from being a small time delivery man to Ian McConnell's right hand man on his second year in college. 

"You're a smart kid Jim-Jim. Bit young to be in this position, but I'm feeling lucky with you by my side. How about it?" Ian said, cigar in his hand as he said so. 

This was the chance Jim had been waiting for, but it was also not what Jim wanted to pursue. So, he opted out. "Mmm, no offense to you but I'm really bored of all this... shuffling around." Jim said, gesticulating with his long arms. "I mean your business isn't the only fish in the sea, and I think you know that." 

Ian raised an eyebrow, breathing smoke through his nose. "You betraying me?" 

Jim tilted his head like a parrot. He said, "Um. I wouldn't call it that exactly. I haven't told any secrets, or made profit off your stuff so you can still trust me on that." He clucked tongue and picked at his nails. "I'm branching out from this business. Gonna start my own." 

"Yea?" 

Jim nodded, watching the cars going by. 

Ian scoffed, stubbing his cigar on his jeans. "You and what company?" He shook his head. "There'd be no man in the world who'd buy from a kid like you."

"They don't know that." 

"And how do you figure?" 

Jim handed Ian his business card. The card had an M at the center and underneath it the word consultant and a simple phone number written on it. "On every delivery you've had me go on, I've made sure to leave a few of these behind. Write an analogy or two on them. Dropped names in bars recommending myself for work. I've already done a number of them before telling you this."

The older man was impressed. He had heard the rumours of a nasty man who could cover up crimes faster than the cops could retain any evidence. A man who could do ten people's jobs at once and still get it all done in an afternoon. It didn't occur to him to make the connection back to the hardworking and conniving young man in front of him. 

"What if I said no. What then?" 

Jim smirked, "Simple. You'd have disappeared. Poof. Gone. And no one would suspect a thing." 

"You sound as if this isn't your first rodeo." 

"Why do you think Powers went down?" Jim asked calmly, righting himself from the wall. "I'll let you think on that." He called back as he sauntered around the corner back to his dorm.


	4. Sabotage and Grief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim and Sebastian are reunited once more. Sherlock Holmes is slowly making a name for himself. 
> 
> Jim wonders what the best way to burn himself up will be?

Before Jim Moriarty became a household name in the criminal world, Jim Moriarty was a kid who never had any luck, and had a sad story to boot. Sure, call him a villain, call him dangerous, call him every sacrilegious name under the sun, he doesn't care. Why should he? He did everything right by society's standards, and more. He's the one standing with his head held high, and has the power to prove his worth. Clawed his way up from the depths of hell and soaked the lottery in blood. Good or bad, right or wrong. That doesn't matter as long as the job gets done. Jim is a self-made man on the wrong side of the law because people who make poor choices make the world tilt upside down. He's just balancing the scales. 

"Jim Moriarty, pleased to make your acquaintance." Jim extended a hand, smiling widely at his client.

Dear Jim,  
Please help me disappear from my husband. I can't survive like this. 

Tick.Tick. Tick. Tick. 

Who do you ask for when you're in a tight spot? Whose willing to do the unthinkable when you need it?

Dear Jim,  
Can you please help me? I've got a problem...

Tick.Tick.TickTickTick. 

Whose there when no one else can help? Who can you trust at a time when you can't even trust yourself? 

Dear Jim,  
I need you to take out... 

TickTickTick.

The name's Jim Moriarty. Consulting criminal. 

Remember it.

Dear Jim, dear Jim, dear Jim, de-- 

...

Dear Jim,  
We regret to inform you that Sebastian Moran has been wounded in action. He is being admitted to General Hospital...

Sebastian Moran. He went to war. Almost seven years of duty. A captain that very nearly nicked a promotion caught a bullet to his shoulder and an explosion all at once. For his troubles, he lost an arm and half a leg, a medal, and a meager pension to stave off hunger. It's a wonder he bothered surviving at all. 

It took all of Jim's patience not to suddenly go up to Parliament and burn their building to the ground. Every day during visiting hours, Jim would sit by Sebastian's side, scrolling through his BlackBerry to sort emails and organize his calendar for the next year. There was a case where a poor taxi driver needed money for his kids, a woman in Pakistan trying to get to the States, a Chinese organization asking for his presence via encrypted emails, and so on and so forth. He dealt with all of that while waiting for Sebastian to wake up. 

"... You've just been staring at a blank screen for twenty minutes." A hoarse voice announced, smacking his lips to get moisture in them. 

Jim took the water cup by the bed and shoved the straw into the older man's mouth. "Shut up and drink, you shouldn't even know about cell phones old man."

Sebastian chuckled, causing his whole body to move at once. 

It shook the water cup in Jim's hand, but he didn't mind. He put it on the counter by Sebastian's head. 

"How bad?" Sebastian asked, not daring to look anywhere but at the ceiling. 

Jim would never lie to anyone if it didn't serve a purpose he wanted to happen. "You don't have an arm. You barely have two legs." He said bluntly, pocketing his BlackBerry after sending a quick text to one of his branch suppliers in the East. 

The room became silent then with Jim laying his head by Sebastian's side. After awhile Jim thought the man fell asleep, and was almost lulled into it as well until Sebastian spoke up. "You don't have to be here. I'm sure you have things to do."

"And yet here I am." Jim snorted, standing up to climb on Sebastian's bed and threw his shoes off. "Scoot over, I'm in the mood for a nap." He shoved his body in the little space he had between the bed rails and Sebastian, tucking himself into the crook of the older man's neck and clocked out almost immediately. 

Nobody who came in after had the courage, or the cruelty, to remove the man from their patient. The two looked so peaceful together, and the visiting man had been such a dear, they could bend the rules just a little bit for him. Instead they did their testing quietly around the two, whispering and explaining to Sebastian the overall treatment he still had to undergo for his injuries. If anyone saw the tight grip around Jim's shoulders, no one commented on it. 

Sebastian looked at Jim, smiling warmly at the younger man and kissed the top of his head, suddenly very glad for his presence. The world didn't seem so bad with the smaller man by his side. Jim still didn't stir, which meant he must not have been sleeping well despite how pristine he looked when he came in. The older man frowned disapprovingly at the thought. 

By the time Jim stirred, visiting hours had long been over and the room's lighting had been dimmed. Jim rubbed his eyes, only to find himself face to face with an awake Sebastian staring at him. He blearily blinked, then yawned like a small kitten. "Welcome home." he declared drowsily, snuggling into him a little more. 

Sebastian returned the smile with one of his own and held Jim tightly. "I'm lucky to be back." He whispered in return. 

"Mmm..." 

People are boring in the way they think sometimes. They think experiences are what matter the most. Sometimes thinking of them consumes their whole being, and they forget where they are for awhile. It leaves them feeling raw and vulnerable when they don't want to be, which makes them feel guilty about being around the people closest to them. Jim doesn't mind that much even though it's annoying. He knows better than anyone what it's like to be small and helpless in things you can't control. 

"You don't have to stay." Sebastian rasped, his head laying against the wall. He was shaking all over from shock. A night terror got to him. 

Jim never bothered to reply to that anymore. He simply slung Sebastian's good arm over his shoulder and together they limp off back into the bedroom they share. On nights like these, Jim would watch over Sebastian, his hand on his, promising him he'll take care of the boogeymen in those dreams of his.

It doesn't help much, but it's enough for them to feel just that bit better on the days it happens. Jim hopes it's enough for them both. 

Surprisingly enough, Jim's quite patient during the rehabilitation process. Doesn't say a bad word ever and keeps up with Sebastian's schedule without having to ever forfeit his own. 

One day, during a physical therapy appointment, Sebastian asks, "Who the hell is Holmes?" He's rotating his prosthetic arm to get used to the feeling of the weight connected to the rest of his body. 

Jim looked up sharply, but only a corner of his mouth twitched at the name. "Just a man." he finally said, and glanced back down on his BlackBerry. 

"Mmm... You must really like him, if he's got you making that kind of face." Sebastian mused. 

He scoffed, "Quite the opposite." 

When the therapist isn't looking, Sebastian does a few more rotations than necessary before they turn back around. "Then why do you have his webpage and cell phone number pulled up on your laptop?" 

Jim looks Sebastian dead in the eye and drily says, "Because I'm a huge fan." 

Sebastian stops moving, looking right up at Jim. 

They stare at each other for a full minute and a half until the therapist turns back around. As soon as they do, both men start laughing, causing the prosthetic to loosen and fall off Sebastian's arm. This makes them howl even louder than before. 

"Well at least you're in good spirits?" The therapist says halfheartedly. 

They are then reprimanded for fooling around and not taking the treatment seriously. Jim apologizes, but only just barely. 

"How do you feel about traveling, yea?" Jim asked on a day they're both doing absolutely nothing. 

Not entirely true. Jim still has to maintain his status as king of the criminal world, and is doing rather well for himself. People are afraid of him, just as they should be, and he never has to leave Sebastian's side to do it. Gotta love the internet. It makes things that much easier to control. 

"Depends. Where to?" 

"Bangkok. I have to deal with a particular channel or whatever." 

"Wouldn't your associates question why you've got an armless man by your side?" 

"I'll tell them you're my right hand." Jim grinned lazily, with one leg propped over Sebastian's chest. 

"Cheeky bastard." 

Jim laughed as he is assaulted by a pillow. 

They don't do anything else for the rest of the day. Jim doesn't mind the unproductiveness of it all. 

A few years pass in relative peace until Sebastian ended up collapsing one day. The man refused treatment. Claimed he's sick of hospitals. They still had to go anyways when it got too much. What the man had didn't even have anything to do with the wounds he suffered from the war. The universe was just that cruel. 

"Sorry mate, but um, I think you're in the wrong place." A man said. He's shorter than Jim by much, and is sitting on a hospital bed in the ICU unit. Jim must've gotten the wrong room by mistake. 

Jim dully apologizes, taking his flowers out the door and rams head first into a taller man. This one, he recognizes as the man he's been idly stalking for four years and two months. 

The great Sherlock Holmes. 

The problem? Neither care about the other at that exact moment simply because both are worried about different people. Jim helped the man up, apologizing profusely while Sherlock glares at him for daring to get in his way. 

Jim leaves before the man can make any proper deductions about him. 

The shorter man says, "Leave him alone, Sherlock. Can't you tell he's grieving?" 

"So?" Sherlock asks. 

The shorter man sighs and shakes his head. 

Jim disregards this information for the moment until much later. 

At the moment, Jim would like a few words with the universe but held his tongue. He doesn't care that Sebastian can barely see him, hear him, or talk to him. He won't leave him alone, and he won't leave him in pain any longer than he already has. 

The morphine drip is replaced by one of the nurses, and Jim softly thanks her.

Sebastian dies before he turns thirty. It's a real shame to be honest. The man never had much in his possessions, so there wasn't a lot to sort through. Jim didn't bother to keep anything except the old watch he'd given to Sebastian before he'd shipped out. The man had somehow never lost it while on the battlefield. 

Jim holds it up in his hands, turning it back and forth. There was an engraving on the sides. Custom made. It said 'Take your time getting back to me.'

Now it was back in Jim's possession once more after a decade of absence. Fat lot of good time did for them. Jim somehow felt the universe was mocking him at that point. He tossed the damned thing in a box and left it in the corner of a shelf in his apartment complex. 

The funeral is small. Not many attend. A few veterans, the home who raised him, a neighbor, and a smattering of others from the hospital, and those who recognized him on small (legal) jobs Jim did for them were present. They give condolences and words that mean nothing to Jim. Jim sits by the grave hours after the funeral is over. He drinks bottles of Sebastian's favorite beer and toasts to his death. The sun is still shining high in the sky as he does so.

The gravestone reads out "In loving memory... Brother and Friend. May you find peace once more." 

Jim doesn't give a rat's ass about peace. He doesn't care about anything anymore. If he were dead, he'd rather have nothing on his tombstone. It's only fair. There's no need for him to be remembered after death. Dead people can't speak for themselves, so he wants to be feared while he's alive. He glares at the grave, and swigs the beers, getting exuberantly drunk. 

People are boring because they live and die all in the same breath. Jim thinks living is boring, but so is dying peacefully. If you're going to go out, you should go out in style. He muses this over Sebastian's grave. There's no point in waiting for death to come to him if he doesn't try diving towards it head first. 

So he plans it out, decides the date he'll die on, and where it'll take place. Now, he just has to decide who will play a role in his elaborate game. 

There's an alert on his phone. An encrypted message, and a call to his cell. He answers it and someone sounds panicked, shouting about being sabotaged by hooligans who called themselves Sherlock Holmes.

Moriarty listens with a slow and sly smile creeping onto his face. He listens with his back resting on Sebastian's grave stone, and finds that time hasn't abandoned him just yet. 

"Yes, this is Moriarty, how can I help?" He says with the brevity of a man who has all the time in the world.

Sherlock Holmes, the consulting detective. A genius. A fool. Who better to get Moriarty killed than a man who lives with his head in the clouds?

Let's bring him back down to earth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lmao, I needed motive for this 'mad man'. So here we go.


	5. Plan M

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim Moriarty's POV of the five pips.

Molly Hooper. Pathologist, forensic examiner. Coroner. Take your pick, it's all the same really. 

Jim hadn't meant to put her up as part of his plan. She hadn't even entered his radar until he'd taken his place as the new IT Technician. 

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry! I should have looked at where I was going." Molly, small and unassuming, scrambled for her papers on the floor. 

"No, no, that was my fault. Really, I should've see you a mile away." Jim says politely, adding, "Especially since you're one of the few of the cute ones in the building." He helps pick up the few left and drops them in her hands. 

Molly giggles, flattered by the compliment, but unable to give a proper response to it. "Really? The guys downstairs don't really think so." 

Jim gasps loudly, "That's blasphemy!" He practically shouts, then tilts his head with a playful pout. "Who downstairs?" 

"The damned and the dead." Molly responds drily, quirking a small nervous smile like she's not sure the joke will stick with Jim. 

That's when Jim gets a really good look at her. Truly looks. Molly Hooper. A woman who shouldn't be that adorable in a lab coat but is. Molly Fucking Hooper. Someone bland and ordinary, but so, so incredible in her own way. The worst part is, she knows Sherlock Holmes. She likes him too; Loves him in fact. More so than she should. It's frustrating. Jim wants to not care that she'll be used as a pawn. He wants to see her as just another stepping stone. But the longer he gets to know her, the more he doesn't want to involve Molly Hooper in his game. 

People who are ordinary tend to remain invisible without fail. Molly was supposed to be one of those people. But sometimes, and Jim thinks this is because she just so happens to work with people who shine brighter than she does, ordinary people have the ability to just be the people you never expect them to be. 

Jim has never been so conflicted in his life. He knows that if he were to feel the desire to play the romance game, he might have liked to try with Molly. She's brilliant in her own way. Very sweet. Confident but nervous too. Like... Like a dandelion. He's not good with poetry. Shut up, he's not a genius, just incredibly good at being sensible. 

For the first time in his life, Jim imagines a future that is full of ordinary things. A world where Molly Hooper is his, and Sebastian visits from time to time. A world where he isn't a criminal mastermind disguised as a part-time community college maths professor, and instead a full-time Cambridge professor who enjoys teaching and sees his students as his little pupils. Somebody who has a friend he calls his brother, and his actual brother that he can visit at any time. Petty arguments shouted at each other at 4PM, and made up in the middle of the night because neither of them can get to sleep without forgiving the other. A world where he wasn't handed a deck with only Jokers in them, and got to keep everything he'd ever wanted out of life. 

Jim scraps these fantasies the minute they pop into his head and tears fall off his face as he does. There are more tears here than the ones at the funeral. He blames it on the TV. 

Molly sees them and tries to wipe them off his face with a gentle hand. They're cuddling on the sofa watching Glee. Her brow is furrowed, concerned for him. She knows the episode's a bit sad, what with Finn dying, but she didn't think he'd be that effected by it. 

Jim kisses her on the head, keeping his grip on her shoulder firm and strong. He doesn't want to let her go. Jim cares too much to let his desires take over his head. 

There is a shift on the sofa, and Molly is giving him a kiss on the cheek with tissues in her hands. She doesn't comment on his odd behaviour. 

He takes them and smiles at her gratefully. 

Tomorrow, Jim meets Sherlock just as he's escorting Molly to her workspace. He plays up the stereotypical gay act, knowing exactly what Sherlock will do. 

Sherlock, as he expects, barely glances at him before announcing "gay." 

"What?" Molly asks, her whole body goes rigid and red. 

Jim pretends he didn't hear him as he slips his number under the petri dish. 

Realising his mistake, Sherlock looks up and redeems himself. "Nothing, I said... Hey." 

Jim does a small head tilt, wondering what the hell that was. Could Sherlock be learning to be better? No. That doesn't make sense. He's supposed to be... arrogant, all-mighty, and haughty. Not trying to deal with people. Why would he-- 

"He means thanks." A shorter man cuts in when Sherlock doesn't respond to Jim's polite greeting. 

Oh. Who's this? 

John Watson. Doctor. Afghanistan war veteran. Sebastian might have known him, but that would be stretching it too far. The universe isn't that small. 

Sherlock's body is angled away from Molly and Jim, and towards John. It's not outright, and it's not obvious, but it's there. The way he looks to John with the swift dart of his eyes. 

Molly sees it too. She looks as if she wishes that were her instead. 

When Jim leaves, he hears Molly speak at a volume louder than he's ever heard her. He smiles. It's good to know she's not completely meek and that she can defend herself. 

Molly calls him an hour later asking them to meet for lunch. She never makes it. He can suspect why though. Slipping your phone number to your date's crush isn't exactly a good thing to do in anyone's book. But then again, so's dating a criminal. 

Oh well. What she knows now won't hurt her later. Not in a way that matters. 

Jim feels a vibration in his pocket as Sherlock finishes spouting off the answer to the most recent puzzle to his little game. Thank God he's somewhere else. 

He knocks on the door for the little kid, and he comes out nervously. "Did I do good Mister?" 

"You did excellent. Sounded so frightened for me, didn't you?" Jim hands him a lollipop. "Now, remember the last part of the game? You don't tell anyone who I am or what I look like, no matter what, you understand. If you do tell anyone, what happens?" 

The child looks down, he didn't like the last part. "My mom dies?" 

"Yup!" Jim says cheerily. "They're coming this way so be a good boy and stay where you are. Wouldn't do for you to get lost again, would it?" 

The child shakes his head. 

Jim ruffles his hair with a gloved hand. "Attaboy. Let's hope we never see each other again." he says, and disappears as if he never entered at all. 

He gets about twenty seven blocks away, before he tries to pick up his cell phone. There's a voicemail left on it. 

"Jim? Where are you? Can we talk? Preferably right now? I'm still at St. Bart's if you have the time." The voicemail ends with a click, and Jim stares at his phone, then shrugs. 

If this were the last time he'd see Molly, then he'll take it even if it's a trap (it won't be. Sherlock doesn't suspect him so there won't be one.). He goes, and when he gets there, he doesn't expect much. He sure doesn't expect to see Molly standing with her arms crossed, ready to leave just as he comes in. 

"I'm the cutest girl? Really?" 

Jim stands in front of her, hands in his pockets. He's sporting a soft and easy grin. "Of course. I wasn't lying when I said that." 

Molly looks down. She looks damn near to tears herself. "You could've at least been honest with me about you though." 

For a second, Jim thinks she knows more about him simply because he wouldn't put it past her, and says, "Who said I wasn't honest?" 

Molly looks up sharply, and steps forward, "You gave Sherlock your number!" She says incredulously.

Jim sighs, disappointed. It would've been more fun if she had figured him out. "And you? You're pining after something you can't even reach."

Molly doesn't have a response to that. She just looks wide eyed at Jim. 

He scoffs, "No, no, no. You don't get to look at me like that. It's obvious. He's the sun and you gravitate towards him like a planet, orbiting around him like he's your only source of energy."

Molly slaps him. She doesn't say a word, but her face tells him everything. 

Jim moves his jaw, feeling the sting of the assault. "I see... I'll see you later then. Try not to burn yourself on your way out. You're worth more to me than you are to him." 

He leaves her and she lets him go. Jim takes it with the same grace as he does everything else. He won't be seeing her again anytime soon. Jim ignores the rapid beating of his heart as he goes, knowing full well there's nothing he can do at that point but go his separate ways. 

John Watson feels a presence stalking him, but can't quite put his finger on where it's coming from. It's almost as if it feels like he's being caged in somehow. He stops walking, darting his eyes around the dark trying to figure out who else is with him. 

Jim is almost impressed. No one is ever this wary when he's stalking them, even if they are trained in the military. He catches Watson from behind, and injects the short man with a needle. It's nothing but a sedative, which will definitely keep him loopy for a little bit, but will wear off in time for their meeting with Sherlock. 

He has them trekking down to the community college he works at, and securely ties Watson to a chair. Jim sits opposite him, waiting for the man to wake up. Nearly half an hour later, Watson stirs and blinks up at Jim in confusion. 

Watson barely recognizes him. "...Jim?" 

Jim waves his hand, "Present." He grins, "It's nice to finally meet you Dr. Watson."

Watson looks at him with narrowed eyes, "You're Moriarty?" 

Jim chuckles, "Guilty as charged." 

The shorter man looks around the place, attempting to move on instinct. He's restrained by his chair of course, but one does have to applaud his efforts. 

"This place remind you of anything?" Jim asks, resting his chin on his hands. "'Course it's not the exact same place but... it's the sentiment that matters, not the location." His face darkens considerably, and he smiles widely. 

Watson glares at Moriarty. Doesn't say a word. 

Moriarty continues on anyways, "I'm a bit intrigued about the predicament between you and Sherlock though. The mystery of Dr. John Watson and the sociopathic Sherlock Holmes." He hums, pouts his lip, "well, that's not quite right. Sherlock Holmes does care for one thing at the very least." 

Moriarty is still met with silence. Stingy. He nods once and pulls on the guns hidden beneath the table. "You and I have a few hours to kill." Moriarty has to bite his tongue to keep from laughing as he slides the guns onto the table. "So let's play a game." 

Watson eyes the guns warily. Both models identical. He can't tell if they're loaded unless he checks the clips. 

"Your hands are tied together, so you'll still be able to pick up the guns when I tell you to." He clicks to disassemble the clips on both, and shows them to have full rounds before putting them back. "I'm sure you're familiar with the rules." Moriarty gives him a look, awaiting a response. "It's quite similar to the one you saw in action with Sherlock."

Watson doesn't speak but nods, his eyes wide as the idea of what they're about to do dawns on him. 

Moriarty grins once more. "Good. Once you choose which weapon you'd like, we'll start." He leans back a little and extends his arms open. "Take your pick." 

Watson stares at the guns on the table then back to Moriarty. He looks as if he wants to ask questions, but is holding back. 

"You can speak you know. I'm not going to bite... Yet." Moriarty says conspicuously. 

"You expect me to shoot myself?" Watson asks bluntly. Short and to the point. 

"No, no, don't be ridiculous." Moriarty smirks, "You're supposed to shoot me." He points at himself with both hands and grins manically. "Surely you've been wanting to do that since oh... I don't know... the Black Lotus?" 

Watson scowls, "That was you?" 

Moriarty laughs, "No. One of my clients. They did pin it on me though. Got me quite a bit of business for awhile afterwards." 

Watson can believe that. The Black Lotus were an organization that had lasted longer than Moriarty himself, if the man were to be believed to be Moriarty. He looks at the guns on the table, then eyes Moriarty like a cautious raven. "You wouldn't really give me the chance to kill you. That's too harebrained, even for you, and if you did, you're either suicidal or just that arrogant to begin with." 

Jim found he rather liked Dr. Watson. Calm, unusually skeptical for an army doctor, and quite receptive to others. He can see why Sherlock endeared himself to the short man. Moriarty holds up his hands flat in front of him. "No, no. No tricks up my sleeves." 

Watson hesitates, but slowly grabs one of the guns to inspect. He clicks the safety off with his thumb, and aims it at Jim's heart. 

Moriarty does the exact same thing to Watson's. "Are you sure you have the right one? You could just be holding a round of blanks, and then where would you be?" He purrs, clucking his tongue in amusement. 

The short man considers it. His face looks deep in thought. 

Moriarty wonders if the man ever gets tired of being an open book. 

Watson looks resolute all of a sudden and nods. "I'll take my chances here." He's sweating, and his jaw is clenched tight, but he pulls the trigger anyways. 

BAM! BAM! 

Nothing happens. Moriarty and Watson glare at each other murderously. 

Watson speaks first. "Of course it's rigged." he mutters, throwing the gun as hard as he can into Jim's face. It doesn't help that the sedatives in his system are messing with his strength. 

Jim shields his face then puts his own gun down. "Surprise! Blanks!" He said gleefully, proving his point by aiming the gun on himself.

Click. Boom. 

Click. Boom. Click. Boom. Click. 

Watson watches, both mortified and alarmed each time Moriarty pulls the trigger. It wasn't that he wanted Moriarty alive, it was more that he couldn't fathom anyone being able to look down the barrel of a gun with such nonchalance and emptiness before. It's the kind you only ever see in the movies, and even then it's nothing compared to what Moriarty's demonstrating to Watson right now. He also thinks the look is familiar from another time, but can't quite place where. 

Moriarty stops, putting the gun down and settles back into his chair. "Oh, go on. You have questions" He drawls, rolling his eyes as he leans his cheek on his arm. "We still have time before..." He giggles, "the final showdown." 

Watson licks his lips, narrowing his eyes on Jim. "Have we met? Before all of this?" 

Jim hums, a wicked grin split wide, "How perceptive of you Dr. Watson." He mimics him, saying, "Didn't think you'd remember that time."

"Didn't think you were a psychopath then." Watson murmurs in return. 

Jim laughs maniacally at the comment and says, "We're all full of surprises." He tilts his head as if in thought and his face darkens. "You just have to look."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoop. New chapter. Whoooooo. 
> 
> Feedback is much appreciated.


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